


between faith and blindly waiting

by ophvelias



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Light Angst, Multiverse, Parallel Universes, Pregnancy, The Framework Universe (Marvel), Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophvelias/pseuds/ophvelias
Summary: There’s tension in the pull of his shoulders, a certain agitation about him as he runs his fingers along the valley of knuckles on his left hand in a way that’s not entirely unfamiliar.





	between faith and blindly waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> I don't even know, honestly. This is like at least 70% plinys's fault. It just is. I mean, it's written for her prompt okay.  
> Set in what is affectionately dubbed 'Fitz Squared' verse where the Framework is treated as a parallel/alternate universe as opposed to a virtual reality. Basically everyone in the Framework is very much human and very much alive, just, in a different universe. And yeah cross-dimensional travel is a thing that happens. I guess it can be considered a follow-up piece to plinys's fic 'don't trust the moon.'
> 
> Title from Rupi Kaur's poem 'a letter to my future lover.'

“Fitz?” Leopold makes no attempt to hide his surprise at the sight of his — brother? alternate self? — standing in the middle of the penthouse, staring out at the cityscape below. 

He blinks, slowly, before turning around to face Leopold. There’s tension in the pull of his shoulders, a certain agitation about him as he runs his fingers along the valley of knuckles on his left hand in a way that’s not entirely unfamiliar.

“Something wrong?” Leopold asks, moving into his space.

“I don’t know.” Fitz admits. Licks his lips and amends. “I mean. Yeah. I guess.”

Leopold gives a curt nod.

“Sit.” He says, motioning towards the sofa.

Fitz hesitates for a beat before relenting. He watches as Leopold shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair.

“Tea, coffee?” He offers, mostly because it’s what he knows Ophelia expects of him.

“No.” Fitz shakes his head, throat tight. “I just—I just want to talk.”

“Alright.” Leopold says, sliding into the spot next to him. “So what happened?”

He watches as Fitz exhales shakily, wringing his hands. He’s silent for a moment, like he’s not quite sure how to formulate his thoughts and Leopold doesn’t press.

“Jemma’s pregnant.” Fitz blurts out, blunt and curt, because he doesn’t know how else to put it.

Leopold blinks before sliding a hand over Fitz’s shoulder, squeezing.

“That’s a good thing though, right?” He says.

“Is it?” Fitz asks, voice trembling. He looks up, eyes catching on Leopold’s for a moment before casting his gaze back to his hands.

“You’re afraid.” Leopold guesses.

Fitz heaves a sigh, deep enough for his lungs to burn. “It’s more than just that.” He mumbles, picking at the skin around this thumb. “I—” Fitz tries, but the words won’t slide past the lump in his throat. “It’s not the right time.”

“Not the right time?” Leopold snorts. “Fuck, _we’re_ twenty nine, not nineteen.”

Fitz ducks his head.

“I’m—I’m not ready.” He admits, quiet and vulnerable, and his chest aches at the admission. “I don’t think we should—I mean. Later, maybe.” He bites at the inside of his cheek.

Leopold drops his hand. There’s a crease between his brows, like Fitz’s words aren’t clicking. His confusion is brief, melting away into something darker. His jaw clenches, fingers twitching to make a fist.

There’s something akin to self-pity etched across Fitz’s features and Leopold wants to punch it right off his face.

“Are you serious?” Leopold spits, words sour on the back of his tongue. Something about the way Leopold wears his anger makes Fitz blanch, stomach churning.

“I didn’t—it was an _accident._ It just—happened and it’s—I can’t—” He stutters.

“Damn it, Fitz!” Leopold says through gritted teeth. He’s pacing the length of the living room now, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers in a display of exasperation. “Are you hearing yourself?” 

Fitz doesn’t speak, steeling himself for a further verbal onslaught.

“Do you know what _I_ would’ve given for it to ‘just happen’?” He grits out. “Do you have any idea what Ophelia and I went through? How badly we’ve wanted this _for years?_ And you’re—” Leopold pauses. “You’re fucking ungrateful. You’re _selfish._ ”

There’s a flash of red hot anger under his skin, something snapping, and suddenly Fitz is getting to his feet, momentarily staring Leopold down. Indignation is exhausting though and eventually his shoulders slump, overcome with something heavy like resignation.

He slides back down onto the sofa, hands scrubbing at his face. A beat, and Leopold joins him.

“And Jemma?” He asks, voice soft.

“I don’t know.” Fitz admits, shrugging, and it tastes like hysteria around the edges. “We haven’t really, I mean, I think she’s still in shock.”

Leopold nods.

“You should talk to her.” He says. “And if it really doesn’t work out, Ophelia and I—” Leopold swallows around the offer. “We’d gladly raise two.”

Fitz breathes, unsteady, glancing up at Leopold through red-rimmed eyes.

“How are you so calm, so _reasonable_ about all of this?” He asks. There’s a laugh, and it sounds painful. “You’re supposed to be the bad one, remember?”

Something like sadness slides across Leopold’s features, pulling tightly at his expression.

“I’m afraid too.” He admits and it’s quiet and doleful, a rare display of vulnerability, soft enough to make him ache from somewhere within. “But not like you.”

Their eyes meet and Fitz thinks he understands. His own memories of his father have started to fade with time but the thought of him still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, even after all the years. Leopold though—his, _their_ father’s wrath and disdain is his reality.

He nods once, remembering the sting of it all. Understands how the fear of becoming like him can fester under the skin like poison.

There’s a _click,_ the sound of a door being shut, followed by a metal clatter, something like keys sliding across the kitchen island.

Ophelia emerges from the hallway, heels hitting the floor in a staccato rhythm. She’s got a package tucked under one arm and a phone in her free hand. But that’s not what draws Fitz’s attention.

She’s wearing a form-fitting lilac dress that skims her knees — it’s taut around her midsection, he notices, hugging the slight but noticeable protrusion between her hips.

He blinks.

Ophelia pauses, mouth dropping slightly. She bends, letting the package slide to the floor with a  _thump._

“Fitz!” She exclaims, beaming, before shooting Leopold a pointed look. “You didn’t tell me Fitz was visiting.” She says, tone dripping with faux displeasure as she pads across the open-spaced living room. Fitz stands to meet her extended arms, letting her embrace him. He swallows, feeling the swell of her stomach as she presses her body against his.

Ophelia’s still grinning after she pulls back, assessing him.

“It’s been too long.” She shakes her head.

“Yeah.” Fitz mumbles, awkwardly running a hand over the nape of his neck, still dumbfounded by the — changes.

Ophelia follows his line of sight, smiling warmly as she slides a careful hand over her stomach. He doesn’t miss the way the ring on her finger catches the light, gleaming proudly against her pale skin.

“I know.” She laughs. “He’s—”

“She.” Leopold interjects. Ophelia tuts, rolling her eyes but humoring him all the same.

“ _She’s_ still really small. It’s only been four months.” She shrugs. “But she’s definitely there.”

Fitz sits back down as Ophelia moves into Leopold’s space, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in for a kiss. It’s a private moment, an achingly intimate one, and suddenly Fitz feels like he’s intruding, filled with an overwhelming urge to look away.

Ophelia smiles against Leopold’s lips, lingering there for a moment before sliding into his lap. He wraps an arm around her waist, palm resting against the swell of her stomach. His nose bumps the shell of her ear, lips planting a small kiss in the space beneath it before moving lower, grazing against the soft curve of her shoulder. She lets out a soft laugh before twisting in his embrace, turning to face Fitz.

“Sorry.” Ophelia says sheepishly, teeth catching on her bottom lip, a pink glow spilling over her cheeks. “What were you boys talking about?”

He exhales shakily, unsure how to formulate his response. In the end, he doesn’t have to, because Leopold beats him to it.

“Jemma’s pregnant.” He says simply and Fitz’s stomach drops at the way Ophelia’s face lights up. He swallows around the bile rising in his throat.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” She smiles, wide and honest and so _happy_ that it makes his chest ache. “That’s wonderful. It—really, it’s a wonderful thing. You’ll see.” She says, like it’s indisputable.

Fitz nods weakly as Ophelia skims her fingers over the bump beneath her dress, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. “They’re going to be about the same age.”

A smile curves around the edges of Leopold’s lips, palm resting on top of hers.

“Oh.” She gasps out. “I think we woke her.”

“You can feel her?” He asks, incredulous.

There’s something magnetic about the exchange and Fitz finds himself unable to look away, watching on with something between agitation and fascination.

Ophelia hums as Leopold kisses the crown of her head.

“Kind of.” She admits, pressing her fingers against the spot where she’d felt the baby move. “She’s not really kicking so much as...fluttering, I suppose. It’s hard to describe.”

Ophelia tilts her head up to look at Fitz and there’s something apologetic in the twist of her mouth. He guesses he must look pretty overwhelmed to elicit that kind of reaction.

“It’s going to be okay.” She says with a loaded kind of vagueness, and for a moment he wonders if somehow she knows what he’s been thinking about.

Fitz clears his throat.

“I, uh, I think I should be going.” He mumbles in lieu of an answer, standing up and smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt. He’s not sure it does any good.

“Listen—” Ophelia starts. “If she ever needs anything, let me know. I want to help.” She says, gentle and earnest, and he can feel something in the pit of his stomach igniting again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Fitz tells her and it’s almost like he’s dragging the words up from the very depths of himself.

He glances at Leopold then, their eyes meeting. _Do the right thing,_ he doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to.

Fitz turns away and takes a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping across dimensions.


End file.
